Shadowed Summer

by Mitchell, Saundra

“I told you, we went up there to ask about Elijah, and she went crazy. Talking out of her head about touching his stuff and seeing his room and drinking from his cup.” Hot and mad, I raised my hand and added, “She was gonna hit me.”

  Daddy turned my too-small desk chair around to sit in it backward. He kept shifting to catch my eye, but I wouldn’t look up. “Why would you go over there in the first place? You know she’s not right.”

  “I wanted to know why Elijah went to the hospital. I wanted to know what really happened.”

  Pain rose in Daddy’s eyes, sudden and startled like I’d slapped him. In a blink, that sting turned steel, a flash of anger making his temple pulse. “Let me tell you something I think you need to get straight right here and now, sugar. Some things you ought to just leave alone.”

  “She thought you sent me.” I held out my scraped hands, begging him to see. Look—look what she did to me. “What did you take, Daddy? She thinks you took something from him and sent me back for more.”

  Daddy paused. “She’s a lost old woman, Iris, and you’re fooling around with her memories. You’re lucky shoving you is all she did.”

  That left me raw with disbelief. “You’re taking her side?”

  Daddy stood slowly, picking up my chair with one hand to slide it beneath my desk again. “I’m sorry you got hurt, Iris, but the woman’s sick. You stay away from her from now on, you understand?”

  “Maybe I would if you’d answer a question straight for once!”

  “And what question is that?”

  I dared to face him head-on and asked, “What do you have of Elijah Landry’s?”

  “Quit asking about him.” Daddy walked out, leaving only his anger behind. “He’s not a mystery for you to solve.”

  Daddy and I didn’t talk at supper. We kept our war silence, and afterward, when I finished the dishes, I slipped upstairs. I had an inkling of a plan, so I figured I’d stay up there until he went to work.

  I dumped all my Elijah things on the bed. I had my spells and Uncle Lee’s box and the lists of witnesses from the library. Reaching into my pocket, I added that single leftover river rock to the pile. Then, solemn, ’cause it was a ritual, I put in the picture of Elijah and my parents at the parish fair.

  Looking over my collection, I had an itch in the back of my head, a blankish spot that stood for something, though I couldn’t tell exactly what. I felt like I had missed an important clue. I was sure if I just stared long enough, it would turn bright and catch my attention.

  The phone rang once, breaking my concentration, and then a minute later, my door clicked. I hurried to throw a cover over the pile.

  Daddy didn’t walk in, he just stood at the threshold and gestured with his thumb. “That’s Collette.”

  “What, I’m not grounded?”

  With the hint of a warning, Daddy asked, “Do you want to be?”

  I dug my phone from under the bed, waiting until Daddy left before leaning against the door. He wouldn’t sneak up on me again.

  “Hello?”

  “Oh my God, what happened?” Collette sounded breathless and flighty.

  Rolling my eyes, I slid down the door, watching as pollen fluff drifted past. “Nothing, except Old Mrs. Landry is a big fat liar.”

  “Oh no,” she moaned. “She called the police on us?”

  “Well, she did on me, anyway. Told ’em I was throwing rocks at her house.”

  “Dang, Iris. Did you get in trouble?”

  “I got yelled at.” Raising my foot, I stirred the air to confuse the pollen fluff, making it spin wildly before I stomped it to the floor. “My daddy’s leaving shortly; as soon as he’s gone, you need to come over.”

  “Um . . . okay?” It came out like a question, thick with confusion.

  Leaning forward, I opened my door enough to make sure Daddy wasn’t listening on the other side before whispering, “Bring your books and just you; we’re gonna find Elijah.”

  “You sure that’s a good idea?” Collette asked.

  “You’re the one who said we had to put him down.”

  “But I didn’t mean—”

  “We need to quit messing around and do something, Collette. Come or don’t; whatever.”

  She hesitated again, then said, “All right, I’m on my way.”

  I stood candles up in teacups all around my room, lit them from a box of matches, then moved on to arranging my bed. The Ferris wheel picture lay on my pillow, and beside it, my spellbook. The library notes went back in my desk, but I put the rock in my pocket. I would need that.

  “Lord, Iris,” Collette said, slinking into my room. Candlelight shone under her dark eyes, shading them from below. She looked haunted as she turned in a slow circle.

  With a measure of pride puffing me up, I waved my hand at the room transformed. “Looks good, don’t it?”

  Collette nodded.

  “We’re using the spell to talk to Elijah. I need you to hold my hand and pull me back in case something bad happens.”

  “Do you want me to chant anything?”

  “If you want to. Something quiet and steady.”

  I arranged myself in the middle of the bed, nudging the picture back into place when it threatened to slide off the pillow.

  Reaching into my pocket, I produced the rock. Elijah’d sent that to me; I figured it would help me find him.

  I closed my eyes. This time, I wasn’t afraid; I wasn’t even anxious. I knew down in my soul Collette wouldn’t let anything happen to me. Steadying myself, I squeezed the rock as I tried to sink to that shallow-breath place again.

  I noticed the tiniest things. Wind kissed my curtains. Collette smelled like baby powder. The candlelight became solid in a way, a warm blanket coursing over my skin.

  The drifting was just like the first time, when I lay on Cecily Claiborne’s grave; just like the butterfly dream; but this time I was ready. I knew where I wanted to go.

  Show me Elijah, I murmured inwardly. Show me the last of him.

  My house washed away in watercolors, draining down to black, with me marooned in it. Then the walls came up again. An unfamiliar bedroom surrounded me.

  Elijah sat at his desk, scribbling away on a piece of paper. He didn’t notice me; he didn’t even stop writing. Wads of tissues filled his trash can, and he blindly reached for a new one. Pressing it to his nose, it bloomed with a bright red spot of blood.

  He was going to die soon. I felt it; it built like a storm cloud getting darker and darker until rain had to fall. These were Elijah’s last minutes, and he couldn’t hear me warning him to get away.

  The window rattled and me and Elijah both turned to look at the same time. When I saw the face there, I choked. A sharp, sudden hook in my belly yanked so hard I thought I might tear.

  In the time it took me to blink, Elijah disappeared—his room, his time, too—and the moon became Collette’s face, staring down into mine.

  “Iris?” Collette shook me.

  I struggled to sit up; my head swam. For a minute, I felt like somebody’d stuffed my head with clay; I couldn’t even think. Sick and dizzy, I wiped my nose and found it bleeding.

  I tasted copper, and it hit me in a wave who I’d seen in that window, who was there the night Elijah Landry died.

  Poor Ben looked like he might jump out of his skin when he saw two girls climbing through his window in the middle of the night.

  He threw down his Xbox controller and grabbed his robe. While Collette giggled, I rolled my eyes to the ceiling and tried not to look. It was kind of hard, though, because I’d never seen a boy in his boxers.

  “Iris had a vision,” Collette said, trailing her fingers along the edge of Ben’s desk. I let her tell him the story; I’d been there—that was enough for me.

  His wallpaper had little baseballs and footballs on it, and the border was Astroturf green to match his bedspread and curtains. He didn’t have very many books; instead, he had uneven stacks of comics, mostly the horror kind, with titles dripping blood.r />
  Collette looked all pink and out of place in Ben’s room, but I liked it. If it had been any other night, I would have been happy to sit down with a comic or two, or a bottle of glue and a snap-apart model—maybe of the planets. I didn’t care about cars or spaceships.

  When Collette finished, Ben edged toward me, staring at my nose. “Are you all right?”

  Just in case it had started bleeding again, I rubbed my knuckle against it. “Yeah, it didn’t hurt or anything.”

  “You caught his nosebleeds, huh? That’s kinda weird.” Ben rubbed his palms together thoughtfully. “If that happened all the time, sure does explain why nobody cared about the blood on his pillow.”

  “I think it explains something else, though.” This part I’d saved to tell myself. Leaning back to sit on the windowsill, I stuck my hand in my pocket to rub the smooth river rock. I wanted to be dramatic, to draw out what I’d realized until Ben and Collette both turned ashen and gasped, but I didn’t know how.

  “Y’all wanna know who was in the window?” Ben nodded, and when Collette looked up, I broke the news. “My daddy.”

  “Iris, that’s crazy,” Collette said, and with a bounce, she dropped to sit on the edge of Ben’s bed. She threw me a look of barely disguised disdain. “Your daddy wouldn’t kill anybody!”

  That hook in my belly pulled again. “I was there the night Elijah died, and so was he.”

  Ben asked, “Are you sure, though?”

  I didn’t want to be—the thought of it barely fit in my head. But I’d been there. I knew. “How could I mistake him, Ben?”

  “You could go to hell for saying that,” Collette said.

  “Not for telling the truth.” I waved the rock at her, then stuck it back in my pocket.

  Collette stood up. “It doesn’t even make sense.”

  My voice sounded strained, like I’d swallowed hot tea too fast. “You saw those pictures of Elijah goofing with my mama. How he was always looking at her, how Miss Nan all of a sudden goes away.”

  “And? Even if he was crazy in love with her, so what, Iris?” Collette tried to dismiss me with a casual roll of her shoulders. “That doesn’t make your daddy a homicidal maniac.”

  “No, but I know for sure that Elijah’s mean, don’t I?”

  Ben hissed softly. “What if he got tired of watching them?”

  “If he tried something . . . ,” I said, and stopped. I couldn’t find the breath to say it.

  “Your daddy’d have to do something about it,” Ben said quietly.

  I had to turn away, drying my face on my sleeve before they saw me crying. I knew what I’d seen, and I wished I could burn it all to ash. Daddy was all I had.

  Collette’s flat voice pulled me from my thoughts. “How come you’re just now figuring this out, now that we’re at Ben’s?”

  I pulled open the window. “I knew before. I just hoped I was wrong.”

  Before I could get outside, Collette stopped me with a scowl. “Liar. You’re making up stories, just like you did with the witchboard!”

  It was a low blow, bringing up sins I’d already confessed, and her protest felt like a slap. “Excuse me?”

  “No excuse for it.” Collette ignored Ben’s frantic waving to lower her voice as she walked up to me. She dug deep and pulled out something she knew would hurt. “You’re just trying to be special, and you’re not.”

  Once, I’d gone so high on the swings that I slid out and lost my breath when I hit the ground, and that was exactly what Collette’s words did to me then. Gathering myself, I concentrated on the faded sports wallpaper, then managed to find enough breath to say, “Good night, Ben.”

  He might have said something back, but I didn’t catch it. I’d already stepped out onto the roof, and I didn’t look back.

  I knew the truth. I hadn’t picked Elijah; he’d picked me. It wasn’t even my spell that set him loose, but Collette’s. If I was special, it was because it was meant to be, and Collette would have to get over herself. She couldn’t be first all the time.

  The night around Ben’s house smelled like honeysuckle, sweet and soothing, as I climbed down the trellis. I was careful not to let it bang when I jumped to the ground; if Ben got in trouble for having girls in his room, it wouldn’t be because I got him caught.

  I just hoped Collette had the sense to feel the same.

  chapter twelve

  When I called Collette the next day, she told me right over the phone that we weren’t on speaking terms. I tried not to let that bother me. I wasn’t about to apologize for the truth.

  All along, I’d needed to go to Elijah—I hadn’t realized that until my vision. I had to get close enough to let him show me where he rested; then I could kiss him goodbye.

  And yet, thinking about what must have happened to put him in my daddy’s path—it was strange to care about him still. To feel him everywhere I went.

  He was strongest by the river. I sat on the shore and chucked rocks into it, making myself more like him. I blinked and held up a hand when a shadow fell on me. My heart jumped as I looked up into a boy-shaped silhouette, haloed by the sun. I settled again when he moved out of the glare and proved to be Ben.

  He poked the ground next to me with a stick. “Can I sit down?”

  “I don’t own the river.” I leaned back on my elbows to look into the water again.

  Without a hint of grace, Ben flopped down at my side, crossing his arms over his knees and squinting into the distance. Sneaky patches of sunlight bared the pale freckles on his face.

  “Smells like a storm’s coming,” I said to fill the quiet.

  “Looks like it, too.” He pointed out the hazy sky with his stick, then swirled it around in wide curlicues. I think he signed his name in the air before looking at me again. “Collette’s still spitting mad this morning.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Like that’s news.”

  Disappointed, Ben said, “I’m serious, though.”

  “Me too.” Rolling onto one elbow, I acted like I was queen of the world. Since he looked so whupped, I decided to needle him about it. “So how much trouble are you gonna be in when she finds out you came to talk to me?”

  Ben made a face, tossing his stick away so he could thread his fingers in his hair. “She’s not my boss.”

  I laughed under my breath. He sounded like he was in kindergarten and looked close enough to pouting that I expected him to stick out his lower lip. “You better not tell her that.”

  “I don’t even think she likes me,” he said.

  The sour in my belly soured my words. “Don’t be stupid, Ben.”

  He turned his pale blue eyes on me, and from his brows to his chin, an unsettled wash of hurt crept across his face. “When did you get to be so mean?”

  I licked my hand to scrub at my knees and offered up my only excuse. “I’m sorry. I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

  “You’re not the only one.” Everything about him seemed to darken, not with anger but with heavy thoughts that sloped his shoulders and bent his back. “This was a lot more fun when it wasn’t real.”

  A touch of guilt twisted low in me, and I worked harder at wiping my knees. “I didn’t mean to see what I did.”

  Ben nodded, then knotted both hands in his hair. Wheat-gold stalks of it jutted between his fingers, and I finally realized what Collette meant when she said he was pretty. He had long, dark lashes and a softness to his mouth that made me want to stare at it when he talked.

  He stole a look at me, so sad, and then turned to the water again. “I wish you hadn’t. It was good, getting to go away. Making things up.”

  I stopped in midswipe. “We didn’t go anywhere.”

  Ben tightened his fingers in his hair, dragged down a little more by that invisible weight. “My daddy hits my mama. He did. Not anymore.”

  It was like falling, hearing a confession like that. I could only guess at what would make a man stop hitting, once he’d started. “ ’Cause she’s sick?”

  Ben
looked at me, hard. “ ’Cause the last time, me and Shea held him down and told him what he’d get if he ever did it again.”

  “Oh no.”

  “We meant it, too.”

  A single thread of cold worked through my chest. I didn’t know Ben’s parents, but I’d seen them at church. They looked like happy people to me, Ben’s daddy tall and gold, his mama true Acadienne, pale skin, dark hair. They held hands in the pews all the time. I didn’t understand how those outsides could hide this inside.

  I grasped for something, anything, to say. I tugged his wrist, making him free a hand so I could slip mine into it. I didn’t even think about it; he hurt and I wanted to make it better. “I think you did a good thing.”

  “I can’t even tell anymore.” Ben looked at our joined hands; all I could see of him was the troubled curve of his brow. I thought he might be crying, but when he raised his head again, his face was dry. Drawing himself inward, he rubbed a thumb against my hand.

  “Anyway, I ain’t ever gonna tell on your daddy.”

  “I think he did it, Ben,” I said. “I really do.”

  Saying nothing, neither one of us moved. We had a staring contest, and I thought I’d won when he closed his eyes. Instead, he pressed his mouth against mine, and it was soft. Dry and warm, too, a familiar gesture that felt strange for lingering.

  I closed my eyes, just for a second, overaware of everything. My heart pulsed until it stopped on a single, captured beat, and I felt dipped in summer again, searing everywhere.

  Pulling back, I swiped my lips with the back of my hand to rub in any mark he might have left behind.

  “You better go home, Ben,” I said.

  After the warmth of his mouth, I felt cold all over and couldn’t look at him. Elijah’d gotten himself killed this way.

  No wonder he picked me—I was just as bad.

  For a week, I had nightmares. I felt sick all the time, aching for everything missing, wanting to pull out my hair and grieve in loud, wrenching sobs. Any kind of penance would have helped, but I needed things.